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Sanctuary
BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP… Adler stuffed a pistol into his dressing robe before hurrying from his room. “Vas! Vas!” he shouted as he pounded on the punk’s door. When no answer came, he pulled it open to find an empty bunk with a protective mother dog beneath. “Humans first,” he whispered, moving on. He’d concern himself with the canines when the moment arrived. For now, his responsibility lay in shepherding the passengers to the nearest source of replenishing atmosphere, the pressure sealable environment of the infirmary. The next door opened. A familiar face leaned outward. “What is it?” “Henry,” Dorian replied, “come tah tha infirmary…” “It’s Leo.” “Ah don’t care,” the medic replied flatly. “Get whoeveah yah are inta tha infirmary…now.” “You’re the doctor.” BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP… Sister Lyen was already on her feet, alert and ready to assist. That old admiration crossed his mind as she made her way to Medbay. The last door was the widow’s. He knocked, called out. When no response came, Dorian slid the panel aside to find the business end of Kate’s pistol pressing directly to his forehead. “It’s an alarm,” he offered. “Medical is yah E station. Follow me…an’ bring that.” He ignored the quizzical expression on her face as he turned to lead the way. BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP… The harsh lighting in Medbay forced an involuntary squint. Leo wore a mask of disgust and a pair of bikini briefs intended to advertise his manhood. Kate/Yeva had perched in the far corner, veil drawn to conceal her eyes as she studied the new tactical situation. Lyen was busy filling cups with water she’d offer to each of the refugees. Adler picked up the intercom mic. “Medical here,” he reported. “Passengers Schnabel, Sister Lyen, and Hen…Leo accounted fah. Ready fah atmo seal. We still have dogs in tha passenger dorm and cargo bay.” “So how long is this gonna take?” Leo scowled. Hard to believe, Dorian thought, that he’d have the cojones to show his face around here again. But, there they were, on full display beneath the scrap of fabric he wore. Harder still to conjure that Keller or Riley would’ve let him come aboard without adding a bullet to his attire. But, there it was. Their boat, their call. “Ah suggest yah make yahself comfortable,” he replied. “Thanks, Sistah.” An odd sight presented itself in the form of Riley, who stalked past the infirmary windows. The set of her jaw and headlong nature of her advance told of both anger and purpose. She was in the dormitory, he thought. Doubtless looking for her crew chief. In the black, alarms meant just a few things. Something bad was broken, something bad was happening, or someone bad was coming to call. Of course, it could just be a drill…though Dorian doubted that such practice was customary aboard Lunar Veil. His years aboard boats had taught him the universal language of alarms. Their standardized beeps and wails offered clear signal to any crewperson aboard any boat as to the general nature of the trouble brewing. BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP…BEEUP… The current bursts told of a problem in the engine room. Dorian flipped the intercom channel, then cut the volume as the same alarm was loudly played back through the speaker. And then he heard the second alarm. It wasn’t the nerve jarring, nonstop grind that indicated fire. Instead, this new siren rose and fell in rapid succession. Radiation, he cursed in silence. “Sistah,” Adler said as he opened the pharmacy cabinet, “kindly refill everyone’s glasses. He doled out the iodine tablets to each person. “Ounce of prevention,” he said politely. Suddenly, Marisol’s voice rang out over the com channel. Apparently unaware she was being overheard, the mechanic said to herself, “Please…no sparks…no sparks…now.”